


Code Sea Witch

by ANTchan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Break Up, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Meet-Ugly, Pining, Stiles Stilinski Doesn't Know About Werewolves, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Valentine's Day, Warning: Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:19:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANTchan/pseuds/ANTchan
Summary: At Lydia Martin’sNereid Crownthey have a code: “Somebody asked for the Sea Witch.”Valentine’s Day Prompt: “I’m the service worker who saw your datemate break up with you on Valentine’s Day. (Heartless!)”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing like being two weeks late to this party! I meant for this to be a short fic (like 1-2k). Instead it turned out to be almost 5k. Which is okay! I liked how the fic turned out. I might even continue with this universe at a later date.
> 
> The implied abuse tag is for everything Kate Argent related. Because that's kind of required when it comes to her.
> 
> Happy reading, everyone!

 

\--------------------1---------------------

 

Valentine’s Day is one prolonged, nightmarish fever dream that Stiles Stilinski can’t wake up from.

Don’t get him wrong, he thoroughly enjoys the entire ordeal. From the chocolate fueled chaos of elementary school to the borderline war strategy that he concocted every year in hopes of getting Lydia Martin to notice him, Stiles has always thrown himself full force into the Lovers’ Holiday. Even now that he’s grown past the desperation to have a Valentine for the sake of _having one_ , he still adores it.

Which is why Stiles loves working for the _Nereid Crown_ , Lydia Martin’s crowning gem of a restaurant in New York City. Technically he’s a consultant on the marketing and logistics side of the business. (It gives him a front row seat to Lydia Martin’s genius in action, which is a _joy_ in itself.) But sometimes, when the floor staff is short and it’s the biggest couple’s holiday of the year, Lydia pulls the friendship card.

Which is how Stiles ends up donning the black waistcoat, bow tie, and apron and finds himself in the thick of the Valentine’s Day chaos.

_And he loves it._

Because Stiles Stilinski is a special kind of twisted and turned out to be both a cynic and a hopeless romantic all in one, and working on Valentine’s Day is the greatest spectacle of his _year_ . It’s chaos, sure. The _Nereid_ is a _nightmare_ the evening of Valentine’s Day, sure. But it’s the _best_ kind of soap opera. The anticipation. The drama. The botched proposals. The Valentine’s dates that just won’t go _right_. It’s schadenfreude given form.

And then there’s also potential for _joy_ : the lovestruck smiles and easy companionship. The love that just emanates off of people that makes Stiles, even at his most cynical, consider that there’s someone out there for everyone; that the love he remembers seeing in his parents wasn’t just a once-in-the-universe fluke.

Stiles always puts up a token fight about it, but working the _Nereid_ on Valentine’s Day is its own special kind of entertainment to him. He’ll even withstand the nightmarish customers for it.

This time around, things aren’t going too badly. It’s dipping into evening and Stiles hasn’t been snapped at or had something spilled on him yet. He’s got a few interesting couples on his radar for the night: a guy about his age who looks equally as ready to puke out of nervousness as he is ready to propose to his pretty dinner date; a couple who Stiles is _pretty sure_ are working out how they can engage in foreplay right there in the goddamned restaurant without anyone noticing; and a young lady who’s looking increasingly repulsed with every word that comes out of her date’s mouth.

Stiles’ latest table, though, features a ridiculously attractive power couple. The kind that looks like they’ve just walked off a fashion magazine or a Hollywood movie set. The woman is perhaps in her mid-to-late-thirties, blonde and statuesque. Her features are sharp and her smile hungry. She’s wearing a sparkling blue dress that hugs her lithe (surprisingly muscular) form in all the right places. The shimmering gems around her neck probably cost more than Stiles’ entire higher education did. She’s a woman that radiates power and adventure and probably eats guys like Stiles for breakfast.

Her partner is slightly less intimidating (only slightly), but no less like he’s light years out of Stiles’ league. Even without having spoken to them yet, he can see that the man is a quiet one. A few years younger than his girlfriend, dark-haired, and with a carefully maintained scruff that is… well, something straight out of Stiles’ fantasies, let’s be honest. And the way he fills out his suit is nothing to overlook either. The man looks nervous around the eyes, though.

Maybe this table will be the second wedding proposal of the night.

Stiles thinks better of it, though, when he approaches the table. “Oh, Derek, the _Nereid?_ Really? Should I be flattered that you remembered?” It’s not so much the words, but the tone that has his steps faltering. It’s sweet and sharp, a malicious undertone to it that makes Stiles’ skin crawl. “Should I be expecting an evening carriage ride through the Park next? You always were pathetically romantic type.”

“Kate…” the man sighs, in the fashion of a person who has gone through an argument one too many times.

“No, no, it’s cute. Like an adorable puppy begging for scraps.”

And that’s when Stiles decides it’s time to make presence known. He plasters his most pleasant and customer-service-approved smile on and steps up beside the table. “Good evening. Thank you both for the _Nereid_ your Valentine’s destination tonight! I’m Stiles, and I’ll be your server. Have either of you dined with us before?”

The woman’s - Kate’s - smile is sly and sweet, a very pretty smile, but there’s something about it that makes Stiles think of a spider eyeing up a particularly juicy fly. “Oh, no, we haven’t. I’ve always wanted to come here, though.” Stiles doesn’t have a chance to go into his practiced speech of the evening’s specials, because she tilts her head, blonde waves tumbling over her shoulder. “Stiles? That’s an interesting name - what kind is it?”

“Mine?” He jokes. “It’s a family alias.” He gestures to the shiny name pin on his waistcoat. (Like hell he was going to let Lydia put his birth name on the damned thing.)

“Ooh,” she coos, “ _mysterious._ I bet all the girls are just dying to unravel your secrets. And they just love a man in uniform.”

Is… is she for real? Stiles fights to keep his expression impassive and polite, and not to stare at the woman in disbelief. “I’m a waiter, not a decorated veteran,” he says, and winces because it comes out far less professional than is acceptable. But it only seems to delight Kate, and she lets out a boisterous laugh. He risks a glance at her lover, the stony clench of the man’s jaw only making this even more awkward. He’s heard of couples that consider flirting with other people foreplay, even met a few of them. But that isn’t what’s happening. The man, whose name is apparently Derek, doesn’t seem the least bit amused by his girlfriend’s flirtations.

“Oh, don’t be so jealous, Derek,” Kate purrs, leaning across to shove playfully at his arm. “Being insecure isn’t becoming of you, sweetie.”

“Kate…”

“ _Kate_ ,” she mimics, and turns to Stiles with a mean little twinkle in her eye. “He can be so touchy.”

“Um.” Stiles falters.

Derek’s eyes are resolutely trained on the table, as if the weave of the tablecloth can somehow transport him a thousand miles away. And yeah, Stiles is feeling a little bit the same right now.

“How about I get you two started on some appetizers?”

 

\--------------------2---------------------

 

Stiles has a pretty good sense of character when it comes to people. He knows Scott is the best kind of people, the steadfastly loyal kind that are too few and precious, though often too trusting. He’s known Lydia Martin is a world-changing force to be reckoned with since before she let the world know she was a genius. He knows that Allison is genuinely good and kind, but hiding secrets. He’s always known Jackson Whittemore was a raging asshole, but a harmless one.

He gets it wrong, sometimes, sure. He’d thought Isaac Lahey was absolutely bad news. The worst kind of jerk. Isaac, as it turns out, is pretty okay. Still a jerk, but he’s Stiles’ brand of jerk so that’s okay.

(The original dislike _might_ have come because Scott genuinely liked the guy and at the time… well, at the time Stiles had _not_ been prepared for Scott genuinely liking another close male friend. It’s okay. Stiles is an adult now. He can admit that he had been jealous and wrong and Isaac is pretty okay.)

Anyway, the point is, this Kate character is Bad News.

It’s the kind of observation that would get him a reproachful “maybe you should mind your own business, Stiles” if he mentioned it to anyone, and he knows that. He’s only getting a tiny, limited glimpse at two strangers and making judgments. Sure. Stiles can admit to that.

But these glimpses he catches don’t paint a flattering picture of the couple’s relationship. Stiles keeps an eye on them as the pair work their way through the first two courses of their meal. From afar it almost looks normal. Kate has a magnetic energy to her. She laughs and smiles, but the look in her eyes… it’s never kind. Sometimes when the woman speaks, Derek flinches. He never looks anything other than cornered, either.

It reminds Stiles, rather vividly, of the final days of Melissa and Rafael McCall’s relationship. When things had gotten so toxic that arguments didn’t seem to end when the shouting had stopped. When the looming and the purposefully barbed words had reached their peak, and Melissa never stopped being tense in her own _house._

Yeah, at best this couple’s relationship has gone toxic and is on its way out. At worst…

At worst, Stiles is starting to wonder how he can slip Derek a hotline number without being noticed.

Stiles is heading back to their table to clear the second course dishes when he manages to catch their conversation. The great (and tiring) thing about a server’s job is that it makes you practically invisible. So no one even notices him standing nearby as Kate leans across the table. “It’s cute, you know, how you think this means anything,” she says lightly. “It’s not going to change anything. I got what I wanted, sweetie.”

Derek freezes. He’s been fiddling with something under the table as Stiles had walked up, and Stiles has this sudden, uncontrollable fear that it’s a ring box. _‘Oh man, don’t do it,’_ he desperately wants to tell the man. _‘She’s not worth it. Trouble with a capital T.’_

“Don’t do this, Kate,” Derek says softly. His voice comes out measured, but from the firm line of his mouth, it definitely hurts him to say it.

Kate sighs, as if this very conversation is a burden on her. “Really? Come on, Derek, you can’t possibly think that I was in _love_ with you. I don’t do mutts. Remember?”

The flash of hurt in the man’s eyes is so sharp that Stiles’ heart drops into his feet. He’s suddenly torn between beating a hasty retreat and going over there to drag the woman out by her perfectly highlighted and styled hair.

“Oh, don’t make that face. You always make that face. You’re pretty, yeah. And good in the sack, once trained right. But really? Who in their right mind… well,” she sniffs, and tosses a lock of hair over his shoulder. And then her smile goes predatory. “It won’t matter in a few days. Your family will sign the contract, and then you’ll be under our control.”

Derek sits up straighter, his expression going steely. “They won’t sign it once they know what you did. None of them will. And I don’t suppose your brother will like to hear about it either.”

Stiles doesn’t have to look Kate to know her reaction. Her derisive scoff is enough. “You think they’ll believe you? Take _your_ word over mine? Don’t be an idiot, Derek. You’re the _predator_ here. All I have to do is say the right thing and make the right accusations. Then they’ll as good as put you _down_ , dog.”

Despite the background noise of the restaurant, all seems to go quiet in their little corner of the world.

And then Derek slowly brings his hands out from under the table, and places his cellphone between them. “It won’t be my word, Kate. It’ll be yours.”

Stiles could _crow_ with laughter at the look on the woman’s face. The shock, the _outrage_. But then her face twists in a nasty sneer, and her hand lashes out, nails digging into the back of Derek’s hand as she leans close. To his credit, the man doesn’t flinch, but his eyes seem to unfocus - the only visible evidence of how he’s steeling himself.

“Do you think you’re _clever_ , little boy? Do you think for even a second this will work? Nothing you do matters, Derek. I’ve already won. Why don’t you just be a good boy and delete that, before I get angry and make you regret it--”

Okay, yeah, that’s enough.

Stiles’ heart is in this throat, a fury so hot rushing in his veins that it is actually a little terrifying. “Ma’am?” he interjects sharply. Not even the anger can quell the moment of fear as her stabbing glare turns on him. “I think it’s time that you left. Or else I’m going to consider having you removed from the premises. Got it?”

For a moment, Stiles fears that she’s going to fight him on it. But her instead she just smiles in… what he supposes is meant to be cordial. But the flinty look in her eye only makes it seem like she’s seconds from murdering him. “Alright, sugar.” Kate raises gracefully from her chair as if nothing has happened.

At Stiles’ motion, Derek moves to stand as well. He’s watching Stiles with a new light in his eyes, unreadable, as if Stiles is a puzzle he can’t solve. It makes his spine tingle.

“We’re all going to walk towards the door,” he explains instead of meeting the man’s gaze. “Ma’am, we’ll call you a cab.”

“Don’t bother--”

“No, we’re calling you a cab. Or a car. I don’t care. But someone will be staying with you until we can be sure you’ve left.” Stiles ushers them towards the front as casually as he can, keeping himself between the two. He drops Kate off at the maître d' with explicit instructions to call a car for her and to have someone wait with her. He makes meaningful eye contact with the maître d' until she understands his unspoken message. After that, he doesn’t much care what she does.

“I’ll see you soon, _Derek_ ,” Kate calls, all too happily.

Stiles isn’t imagining the subtle hunch of the man’s shoulders, and he gently hovers and arm behind him as he gestures towards the kitchen. “This way, sir,” he says softly. He steers Derek through the hustle of the kitchen, expertly dodging around staff. He pulls Hayden Romero to a stop as she attempts to hurry by. “Hey, Hayden, you got a crowd tonight?”

“My last is about ready to go. Why?”

Oh, thank god. “Could you cover my tables for me? I’ve got three left right now. Somebody asked for the Sea Witch.”

Hayden’s eyes flicker towards Derek, regarding the man quietly, and then she sighs. “Sure, Stiles. But you owe me.”

“Absolutely. Thanks, Hayden. The tips from those my tables are yours.”

Derek only speaks up once she’s gone, and Stiles is leading him towards the back. “Sea Witch?” he asks.

“House code for we’re about to work some magic for a customer. Lydia’s idea. She’s a sucker for all things Little Mermaid.” He pats the man’s arm. And wow, okay, the muscle underneath his suit sleeve is _unreal_. “Right this way, sir!” he chirps, pretending his voice doesn’t crack.

 

\--------------------3---------------------

 

“Working some magic” turns out to be setting Derek up at the VIP table in the kitchen that Lydia usually reserves for high end critics and friends. He doesn’t really have authority to make that call, but since Stiles just happens to be _one of those friends_ , he think she’ll let it slide this time. Stiles leaves him there for a moment to go get more comfortable, slipping into the spare office and shucking off his apron and bowtie, and sighing in relief as he unbuttons the top button on his dress shirt and rolls the sleeves up.

He grabs Derek’s meal on the way back, hesitating only briefly before scooping up Kate’s order and a bottle of his favorite house wine as well.

Derek stares at him for a long time when he presents all of this to him. And even harder when he sets Kate’s plate down across from him and then slides unceremoniously into the seat. “What are you doing?” he asks flatly.

“Well, I _was_ going to just throw her dish away,” Stiles hedges. “But that’d be wasting food. And our hake dish is _to die for_ , so here I am. It turns out that I’m free until closing, so here I am. Wine?” He clicks his nails against the bottle inquisitively.

Derek is giving him that confused, somewhat mystified stare that, by this point in his life, Stiles is intimately familiar with. But he offers his wine glass anyway.

(Up close, Derek’s eyes are a breathtaking variation of hazel. Green with flecks of gold, blue, and grey, making it seem like a galactic swirl of color. They’re every expressive, even when he tries to keep his face sour and stoic.)

They tuck into their meal in silence, the relative chaos of the kitchen doing its best to cover it up. That doesn’t make it any less awkward. But Stiles is determined not to let it bother him.

“Why are you doing this?” Derek asks eventually.

Stiles pauses, wine glass halfway to his lips. “What, eating?”

The other man pulls off the absolute _bitchiest_ eye roll Stiles has ever seen in his life. And he counts Lydia, Jackson, and Isaac among his friends. It’s actually kind of amazing. “Eating with me.”

“Weeeell. It’d be lonely without a dinner partner, right?”

He knows it’s a misstep as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Derek’s expression goes shuttered and cold. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Pity?” he rushes to soothe. “No, see, _pity_ would be if I gave you this meal for free. You still have to pay for yours. _I_ am eating this and _I’m_ getting this for free.” Derek is less than convinced by that, though. Stiles sighs, and sets his glass down. “Look, so… I don’t know why. Honest truth here.” That’s a lie. A total lie; Stiles knows _exactly_ why he’s going the extra mile for a complete stranger. But admitting it would make him look like an asshole. “I could’ve let you eat alone out in the dining room, feeling like everyone was watching you. Or I could’ve left you alone back here and let you… I dunno, wallow or whatever. And you’d have every right to. Because that out there? That was fucked up.

“But, see-- okay, so my dad is a cop right? -- Just follow me on this one. -- He’s seen his fair share of life-altering shit. Stuff that makes your entire world just go crashing to a halt. And it’s important to work through that stuff, sure. But what always helped him was that he’d come home after a bad day, and he’d still have me and my mom there going about our lives. He’d still have to take out the trash and have meals with his family. And _that_ is what helped remind him that the world will go on, even when he felt like it couldn’t.” Stiles glances up from the table, and jolts upon finding Derek gazing intently at him. That vulnerable, searching expression on the man’s face is _not_ something he can handle right now. “So here I am. Reminding you that even though you’ve been hit with all this shit, the world is still going enough for all this--” he gestures at himself, “--to share a meal with you. And if you wanna just sit in silence and eat you can totally do that. I mean, I’ll probably just keep rambling at you, but you can totally do that.”

There he goes again, making a fool of himself in front of attractive people. It’s the story of his life, honestly.

Derek surprises him, though, by hesitantly offering his hand. “I guess there are worse dinner guests. Derek Hale,” he greets.

Stiles grins, and accepts his hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek scoffs. “I thought you were joking before. That’s really your name?”

“Like I said, family nickname. My first name is a Polish monstrosity that grates upon delicate American ears.”

The dark-haired man leans forward. “Try me.”

 

\--------------------4---------------------

 

Stiles Stilinski is in trouble.

 _So_ much trouble.

He’s pretty sure he’s fallen in love with Derek Hale before they start dessert.

Goddamnit.

It’s only a slight exaggeration. Derek is incredibly witty in conversation, when he’s not lapsing into almost brooding silences. (Stiles can’t exactly blame him on that one, given the course of the evening.) He can keep up with Stiles in conversation - a feat in itself. Although he kind of cheats, because even when he doesn’t say something, his eyebrows seem to speak a language all of their own, in various flavors of “shut up, Stiles” and “wow, you’re an idiot.”

He’s kind of an asshole, nonverbally brow-beating a practical stranger like that. But it turns out that that _really_ does it for Stiles. So he doesn’t complain. Well, not too much.

Stiles manages to get a handful of personal details out of him over the next hour. He’s thirty-one. He works for his family’s business, as a record keeper and sometimes-interpreter. Most of his family lives upstate, and Derek misses it. He likes the city, but he misses the space. He has a Master’s in linguistics and is fluent in four languages and proficient in a handful of others.

And apparently Polish is one of those, because he pronounces Stiles’ first name correctly on the first go.

(“No!” Stiles exclaims.

Derek stares down at the notepad Stiles had passed to him. “Miecyzslaw? Really?”

“Damnit, it took me the first _nine years of my life_ to pronounce my own name properly! I called myself _Mischief_ until I was seven! Do _not_ sit there and pretend it was easy, you smug bastard.”

Which is far more casual than what he’s thinking, which is: _‘Babcia always said to marry someone who could pronounce my name.’_

The other man grins, and passes the notepad back. “Stick with Stiles,” he says, completely ignoring Stiles’ tirade.

 _What a jerk._ )

It’s not bad. And by not bad, Stiles means he’s unfairly attracted to what he’s seen of Derek so far, charmed and more than a little rankled - in the best of ways. He deludes himself for a while, imagining that this is an actual date - that Stiles had asked Derek to dine with him at the _Nereid_ and gave him the VIP treatment to impress this wonderful, beautiful man. He lets himself wonder what it would be like to touch Derek’s hand, or to have those eyes gaze at him lovingly.

But reality isn’t on his side. This _isn’t_ a date. And the _interest_ Stiles imagines he sees is clouded by misery.

He doesn’t ask about Kate, or what happened out in the dining room. He wants to ask a million questions about how and why. But instead he just leaves it open for Derek to discuss with a complete stranger if he wants to. If nothing else, Stiles can at least give him something like a pleasant evening after the bullshit he’d just witnessed.

The fact that Stiles cares so much about whether or not he should stick his nose into Derek’s business reminds him that he’s in trouble. _So much trouble._ The kind of trouble where he knows that he’s going to let Derek get away, because Stiles is an asshole but tonight he isn’t going to be _that kind of asshole_ that swoops in when someone is at their lowest emotionally.

There’s a quiet scoff and Lydia Martin all but materializes beside their table in all her glory. She fixes them with her appraising eyes, and tucks a wavy lock of, perfectly styled, strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “The Sea Witch code is only supposed to be used to save a customer experience, Stiles. _Not_ to get yourself a date.”

Across the table, Derek’s eyes go wide and Stiles’ own rush of panic is reflected there. _Shit_. “That’s not--” he rushes to explain. “I wouldn’t--”

Lydia’s brows arch in silent, damning disbelief. Derek is _watching_ him again, expression stormy, and it makes Stiles want to crawl into a hole.

“That’s not what this is,” he says firmly.

“Mhm,” Lydia hums. “Well whatever this _is or isn’t_ , we’re getting ready to close up and need you in the dining room soon. So you might want to call Mister Hale a car.” She nods to Derek. “I hope you had a good evening at the _Nereid_.”

“I… thank you,” Derek mumbles, clearly uncomfortable. Stiles can’t blame him there. He’s not sure anyone would call Derek’s evening a good one. Lydia shoots Stiles a pointed glance as she struts off to direct the closing preparation. And then they’re left in painfully awkward silence.

Stiles fights not to sink lower in his chair. “Right, well,” he says, trying to sound casual. But the words come out too fast. “I’ll pass off our dishes and see about getting you a car then--”

“Was she right?”

Stiles freezes. “Uh?”

“About you bringing me back here for a date.”

He cringes. “No! Well, I mean…”  Stiles can’t take this. He can’t take Derek’s eyes on him in this moment, quietly watching, gauging his reaction. Every answer sounds like the wrong one. “You’re like, ridiculously attractive and you seem like an amazing guy and I’m very, _very bisexual_ and also so _very weak._ And I don’t even know if you like guys, but--” No, no, this isn’t what he wants to say. It sounds like a rejection after a mediocre date. Stiles clenches his jaw, and takes a breath. “No. I would pretty much sell my firstborn if it meant I’d get a chance to go on a date with you. Or to, you know, even have you give me the time of day. But not like this. All I wanted to do was let you finish your meal without feeling like everyone was watching, and to maybe have some company until you could go home and, hey, maybe have a well-deserved breakdown. Or whatever.”

Stiles isn’t sure if it’s a good or bad thing that Derek doesn’t answer him. It’s probably a bad thing. But hey, it’s not like Stiles ever had a chance _anyway_. He resigns himself to the quiet humiliation of it. Oh, he’ll be anything but quiet tonight when he calls Scott to lament about his luck, or lack thereof, in romance. But for now he can take it with grace - if forced grace.

It all goes to plan until he’s waiting with Derek for his car. Cleaning up their meal had let him focus on something other than Derek watching every move he made. But now the silence yawns open between them, as if it’s slowly filling the five foot space around them, intending to drown them in it. Stiles’ very skin starts to itch. He sneaks chewing on his fingers now and again.

He can’t. He can’t do this.

“So…”

“You know I--”

They stop.

“Sorry,” Stiles hurries to say.

“Oh, what were you going to…” Derek says simultaneously. Their words come to a halt again.

Bemused, Stiles gestures for him to continue.

“You know I can’t,” Derek says at last.

Despite already knowing that to be the case, Stiles’ heart sinks. It’s silly, really. Of course Derek _can’t._ And yet still it somehow disappoints him to hear it. “Yeah, no, totally. I totally get that. No questions there. Wasn’t even considering it.”

Derek’s gaze is piercing, but he doesn’t seem angry. “You’re lying.”

A lump forms in his throat, momentarily blocking the onslaught of words his brain promptly spews out. “Only a little? On any other day I would kill to be your date. You… You seem like a really awesome dude.” An awesome dude? _Really Stiles?_ “But asking you out right now? It’s not right. You don’t deserve that.”

Derek doesn’t say anything at first. He’s got this look on his face, as if Stiles has somehow said something completely incomprehensible. Which isn’t exactly a foreign concept for Stiles, but not like this. “Thank you,” he says eventually. And he steps closer, close enough that Stiles can breathe in the warm, clean scent of him, and leans in to press the gentlest of kisses to the corner of his mouth.

Stiles’ entire body electrifies at the touch.

“Thank you,” Derek says again as he pulls away.

“You’re, uh. You’re welcome?” he almost squeaks in return.

Derek graces him with a brief smile, small but dazzling. “My car’s here. It was… nice, having dinner with you.”

Stiles can only nod.

“Good night, Stiles.” Derek turns to leave. He’s nearly to the car before Stiles can form _words_.

“Derek, wait!” He jogs up after him, fingers twitching uncertainly as he lays a hand on his arm. “I-- You have someone, right? Someone you can talk to?” When Derek doesn’t answer right away, he quickly pats down his pockets until he finds his cards, and offers one. “Here. If you need someone. Not-- I’m not making a pass, I promise. I know you-- just take it?”

And he does. Derek carefully takes the card, glancing at it for a tense second, and then slips it into his pocket.

Neither of them seem to know what to say after that. So Stiles just pats his arm and lets him go. Just like he promised himself he would.

And maybe he watches the cab pull away and head off down the street for a few minutes after, hoping that Derek will be okay and won’t need to call him. No matter how much Stiles would like to see him again.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

**END.**


End file.
